Chapter 2
Once they make it to the kitchen and the coast proves to be clear, Ben whirls on Jack.
"What the fuck, dude?
Are you drunk?" That sounded perhaps a bit too judgy.
Jack is so uptight all the time, and Ben doesn't want to discourage him from seeking a bit of release if he wants it.
"Not that that's a bad thing!" he adds quickly.
"Whatever you want to do is great, it's just... unlike you.
Are you good?"
Jack stands there, blinking a bit and making just
insane
eye contact with him in such an un-Jack-Cameron-like way, it's almost distracting.
What the actual fuck was going on?
"'M fine, Hayd," Jack says with a grin.
"I'm fucking great, actually.
I feel... like I don't know.
Good.
Great.
Like maybe I should go skydiving or something.
Am I too old to skydive?
Is there, like, an age limit for that?"
Ben blinks, at a loss.
"If there is one, I don't think it caps at 29, buddy."
"Alexei wants to get his pilot license," Jack says somewhat dreamily, and Ben almost breaks his neck looking around to make sure they're alone.
To use Fedorov's first name like that, at a party with their
teammates
who might overhear— Jack must be fucking possessed.
There's no other explanation.
Jack, realizing he brought his drink with him, bends to take a sip and Ben gets a full view of the label for the first time.
Several unfortunate things start to click into place.
Then Jack frowns, deep in thought.
"Do you think Alexei would drop me out of a plane?
If I asked nicely?"
No, but he might drop
Ben
out of one when he finds out about this.
Without a parachute.
"The fuck is the problem, Sterling?" Max asks a few moments later as he enters the kitchen, annoyed that Ben had frantically waved him in here and away from his seat at the poker table.
"The
problem
is that Jack isn't drinking non-alcoholic beer, Max." Ben grabs the can and shoves it in front of Max's face.
"This is a fucking THC drink!
And he's had
three
of them!
What the
fuck?
Max squints at the label before realization dawns across his face.
"Ooooooh.
Oh.
Fuck.
Yes, okay, those were in my fridge as well.
But clearly labeled differently than the beer!"
"You really think Jack Cameron of all people knows the intricacies of alcoholic beverage cans?"
"No," Max says mournfully.
"No, I do not."
Ben runs his hands through his hair.
"This is
not
good, man.
I don't even think Jack has ingested weed before in his life.
His body is going to freak out!" He glances at Jack before continuing in a hushed whisper.
"Not to mention how he'll react if he tests positively for marijuana usage and has to answer to the league for this!
He'll lose his shit, Tremblay!"
Max holds up his hands, seeming to sober up a bit at the gravity of the situation.
"Was an accident, I swear!"
He turns to look at Jack, who is staring wistfully up at the ceiling.
God knows what the poor guy is even seeing right now.
"Jack?
Buddy?
You still doing good over there?"
His friend doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling, but points to it, waving his finger around.
"There's so much..."
The rest of his thought seems to die off.
As does Ben's confidence in surviving the night.
"He's going to kill me," he says decidedly.
"Who?" Max asks.
"Jack?"
Ben just sighs.
"Worse."
Alexei is about thirty minutes outside of Sherbrooke when he feels his phone buzz against his thigh, interrupting his thoughts.
It had been a long fucking day and his team had played terribly and he was so tired he could barely focus on the road in front of him, so he was riding with the windows cracked to stay awake despite the fact that it was -5 degrees and snowing lightly.
He was sustaining himself with thoughts of Jack, the silver lining for everything in his life, and imagining how warm his house would be when Alexei stepped inside, how much warmer his arms would be when they wrapped around Alexei's waist, pulling him close.
How his hot, wet breath would feel against Alexei's—
His phone buzzes inconveniently then, and he quickly digs it out of his pocket, knowing it will be Jack calling to see how far out he is.
But it's not Jack's contact flashing across the screen.
It's an unknown number.
He frowns, remembering how Jack had scolded him about answering spam calls all the time, and sends it to his voicemail.
Not even two seconds later, the same number is calling him back.
So he answers.
"Hello?" he says, his voice still raspy from the game.
On the other line, he hears a faint,
"Fedorov?
You there?"
Alexei pulls his phone away from his ear with a frown, reading the number more closely.
It's a Sherbrooke area code, and there are perhaps two people from Sherbrooke who would be addressing him so familiarly.
One of them being Jack.
Which means...
Sterling
The Monarchs forward clears his throat.
"Yeah.
Hi."
It's official.
His night has taken the absolute worst fucking turn.
First his team loses and now Ben
is calling him out of the blue?
What next, his car will break down?
He'll be alone in the Sherbrooke wilderness and freeze to death and his body will be eaten by hungry wolves?
"How did you get my number?" he asks unkindly.
"Um, Jack gave it to me,"
Sterling explains.
"For emergencies."
This causes Alexei to sit up straight.
"Is there an emergency?"
His mind jumps to 80 different conclusions, all worst case scenarios of what could be so wrong with Jack that Sterling has to call himself, but the other man brushes off his concern.
"Not quite.
Listen, uh."
There's a pause that feels like a small eternity has passed before Sterling speaks again.
"H-how are you?"
he asks and Alexei is now sure he's on that stupid fucking Hudsonian TV show where people get pranked and there's hidden cameras everywhere.
No way on earth would Ben Sterling call him to ask him how he
was.
"What do you mean 'not quite'?" he demands impatiently.
"What the fuck is this, Sterling?"
"Ok, um, well first of all, just wanted to say great game tonight."